<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Hanging Gardens of Eden by lilys_bananas_coven</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265114">The Hanging Gardens of Eden</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilys_bananas_coven/pseuds/lilys_bananas_coven'>lilys_bananas_coven</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bittersweet, F/F, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kissing in the Rain, Rain, Tragic Romance, but not really?, cordelia is alone, it's vague im sorry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:07:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,657</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilys_bananas_coven/pseuds/lilys_bananas_coven</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Cordelia finally understands this feeling, glazed in all it's unreal and diaphanous glory.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Hanging Gardens of Eden</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoberLenaM/gifts">SoberLenaM</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I return! Now this little piece was born out of pure inspiration from a song that I haven't been able to stop listening to for three days now. It's called 'The Prince of The Hanging Gardens' and it is an absolute dream to listen to. Also if I may, you might want to brace yourself for this but I don't know hhhh ok bye &lt;3</p><p>p.s. I finally made tumblr! I have no idea how to hyperlink on ao3 yet it so I just have to stick the whole ass URL here and I'm really sorry for that dhhsjsj but here it is:<br/>https://lilys-bananas-coven.tumblr.com/post/633232114303778816/lilysbananascoven-archive-of</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A book rests, open and face down, on Cordelia's chest. There she lay, back flat against dewy grass, staring up at the sky with hooded eyes. The sun had been shining down on her a little stronger just moments before large clouds began to hide it with their looming promise of rain. Still, a soft, gentle light remains, kissing her nerve endings and seeping into her pores, feeding her like she's one with the plants. She closes her eyes to feel the warmth on her eyelids, and for a moment she does nothing, absolutely nothing, but breathe. </p><p>The story isn't so complicated; it's long, but that's because there wouldn't be a story if they didn't walk in every possible direction but the right one before finally finding the lit path. There are feelings nestled in every corner of their bodies, for each other and for others, and there's conflict, and compassion, and everything in between. It's generic, really, but it's an ideal sounding life to most. It's romantic,  and erotic in some parts, and it's sweet. It's not very realistic, if she's being honest. She finds that most books she's ever read have held this recurring theme. But it's a nice way to dissociate from her own existence for a while, sinking into the greenery, fading into the pleasant warmth of the sun, or simply ceasing to exist. She wishes she could, if only for a moment, but that's not quite possible. </p><p>So, Cordelia picks the book up from her chest, once again allowing herself to be immersed into the story she may never have of her own. The sun peaks out here and there, when the clouds swim across it like large, fluffy shadows. She doesn't look back at the sky, eyes trained on the ink pressed perfectly into each page, until a little drop of something wet lands on her cheek. Blinking away her initial confusion, she closes her hardcover and places it beside her, acknowledging the slight drizzle that's taken over the sky. Strangely, it's still bright. The sun is dressed in a translucent cloud, still glowing prettily through the faint grey of the drizzle. </p><p>As much as Cordelia wants to preserve her book, something about baring herself to nature in all it's purity grounds her in place, and she absently tells herself its hardcover is ample protection. So, she stays, and lets the gentle pitter of the rain hit her skin in all the places it desires. The ever present brightness of the sky blends in with the humidity in a nameless perfection. Cordelia feels as if it's raining sunlight on her skin, and a smile forms on the pink of her lips without her realising it. She blinks away any of the water that makes it too close to her eyes, lashes dripping with dewy droplets. Her hair in all its blond glory gradually dampens as the rain grows heavier, the sunlight unwavering despite it. Absent thoughts fill her mind; none feel very intelligible, like wondering if the grass always feels this good when it rains, or if it's really possible for the rain to absorb the sunlight like a small, naive little part of her soul wishes to believe. Because it's just so pretty, all of it, and she wishes she could just dissipate, wishes she could just melt and dissolve and end right here, while living forever in the rain and the sun and the greenery of this garden of Eden. It would be perfect; disappearing from humanity and scattering the dust of her soul into the green of every blade of grass, into the chill of every drop of rain, and the blanket of warmth that is the early sunlight before noon. It feels too perfect for it to be real, she thinks, and from the slightest difference in temperatures of the water on her face, some droplets warmer than others, she knows she's crying at this revelation. </p><p>This serenity can't be real; not as the smattering of the blue, crystal rain cuts through her thin robe, silk darkening a few shades, and she doesn't feel cold. Not as the sun fights through rain clouds to shine just for her, casting her body in a glistening glow that's both warm and blinding against her wet skin. Not as the grass blades pierce softly into her back like a carpet of soft spikes, and she can barely feel them. She wonders if her body still belongs to her in this moment, sobbing violently until she can't lay still anymore, curling into herself and tasting the sweetness of the sky's tears mixed with the saltiness of her own. Grass squeaks against her wet wrists and calves and feet as she curls into a fetal position, pressing into her cheek and making choppy, directionless imprints that'll pinken into her pale skin. The pitter patter sounds louder like this, with her ear pressed against the ground, hearing the echoes of the earth shattering storm. She's completely drenched, skin numb to the cold or the warmth or any feeling at all.</p><p>Yet, she hasn't felt so light, so safe in such brutality that she can't help but cry because she doesn't feel like she deserves this. Why should she get to feel any good thing in this world ever again, if it's not with her? She shimmers like a soft diamond under the light and the storm, and tears flow like scalding rivers down her cheeks. </p><p>
  <em>Why won't the ground just swallow me whole, or the rain drown me in it's freezing fury? Why do I have to live if it's not with you?</em>
</p><p>The arms around her are just as cold as she is, lean muscles rippling like ocean tides under alabaster skin as they work to scoop her body into them. Cordelia falls into the touch, enslaved by her uncontrollable sobs. Misty always brings with her the scent of rain and citrus, enveloping her in nature's embrace. </p><p>The lips on hers are barely there, but she chases and chases the sensation, begging with her soul to feel more of her. The arms around her, and the body holding hers, it's all so far away from her. How could she be surrounded and yet unable to reach her? The momentary frustration brings more tears to her eyes and she screams. She screams until her throat is raw, and her chest is heaving, lungs burning for air. But the body is still there, it's still holding her, and she wills herself with every fiber of her being to calm down. </p><p>And Cordelia finally understands this feeling, glazed in all it's unreal and diaphanous glory. </p><p>"I'm always here, Cordelia. Just breathe, and you'll feel me," Misty finally whispers.</p><p>She's soft. She's barely there, within and without, and Cordelia strains to hear more of her. She breathes like she's told to, deep inhales filling her lungs and calming her down. She blinks, and it's all so blurry, but Misty looks down at her, then plants a kiss on her forehead. Warmth flushes through her body, and she smiles, and it's okay. Misty smiles, too, with her whole face.</p><p>"We do live together, my love. You, in the garden of Eden, and I in the home that is your golden heart."</p><p>And then she's gone. </p><p>She's gone with the rain, and the ethereal glow of the sunlight, and she's gone with the wind. <br/>Cordelia is left on her back, drenched to the bone despite not a single trace of rain around her. The sunlight is dull again, no longer reflecting off of her skin like she's a gem of infinite facets. The grass is dry and scratchy through her soaked robe, no longer a bed of comfort. Her eyes remain glassy, but there's a ghost of a smile that Misty seems to have left on her lips. </p><p>She understands now. She truly does. </p><p>Misty is ephemeral. She is the ever changing tides of the seas; the soft ripples of foamy water under her feet and the violent waves that crash against the cliffs. She is dawn; painting each new day with hope and the promise of healing and new beginnings with her delicate hues in the early hours at which Cordelia wakes. She is the sun herself; blanketing Cordelia in the soft warmth and comfort she craves throughout each day. She is dusk; the pinks and oranges and fiery reds that streak across the sky like an unreal painting for Cordelia to bask in the beauty of at the end of her day. No stroke of Misty's brush is ever the same, and growing bored of such masterpieces is positively impossible. She is the night; the unreal glow of moonlight that shines in through the translucent curtains, and the tranquil silence of the darkness in which Cordelia lays down to rest. She isn't afraid of the dark like she used to be, and instead welcomes it along with her slumber. Misty is the rain; the heavy storms like a reflection of Cordelia’s unending thoughts and feelings, like a shroud of the sky’s tears to tell her it’s okay to cry, because she’s never alone. Misty is the solace Cordelia finds in these precious fragments of her life.</p><p>Misty is still here. She always has been, Cordelia realises. How else does she still find reasons to wake up each day if she doesn't have her? How else does she still try with all her power to be there for her girls, putting her all into caring for their every need like they are really her own? How else does she allow herself smiles and small pleasures, like warm baths filled with rose petals and glasses of expensive wine on her rare nights of freedom? How else does she allow herself to- to live, if Misty isn't here with her anymore? The answer is that she doesn't. </p><p>Because Misty is gone, but she promised she would never leave Cordelia.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you all liked that! It was a real bittersweet pleasure for me to write. I know it's not quite like the regular foxxay fics we all know and love, but strangely enough I struggle to write those. I do have something for them in the works that isn't so tragic though! :') Much love to all you amazing people, and thank you to the user I've gifted for requesting some Goodeday! </p><p>p.s. I'm taking requests on my brand new tumblr :) here's the link in case you've missed it: <br/>https://lilys-bananas-coven.tumblr.com/post/633232114303778816/lilysbananascoven-archive-of</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>